Strings Attached

~Chapter 4~

That's it! I'm dragging her a** downstairs!

_____

When I wake up at about 1 in the afternoon, I've got about a thousand and one missed calls from Seth, a couple of texts from Chuck and a few of my other friends. The moment I dial Seth's phone, he barks down at me. "What the he**, man?! Have you been sleeping all this time? I told you about our plan for today, didn't I?" Sh**! I forgot. We had to go to the countryside for a ride today. We were gonna go in a group. Probably, that was why Chuck, Harte and Tyler were sending me text after text.

"Yeah, man. I remember now," I answer him groggily. "What do you mean you remember now?" "Fu**! Seth!! Don't yell in my ear. I'll practically go deaf before I reach fifty." "Yeah, not funny. Get dressed. We're coming in ten minutes," he tells me--- more like orders me from the other side just as I am about to fall asleep.

"Dan, you hear me?" I faintly hear him ask. I let out an incoherent little grunt. My phone is about to slip from my hand when he barks again. "Dan!!!" And I bolt upright.

"What? Damn it!" I shout at him in return. At this rate, I think I'll go deaf even before I reach my thirties. "Go easy on me, man! I'm dealing with a severe headache coupled with hangover here." "Oh, sorry. How's your head? That ba*tard hit you quite hard, I believe." I snort acerbically. "Hard is an understatement."

"Then take something for it. We're not cancelling our fun for you." Huh. Talk about sh*tty friends. "No thanks for the reminder. I need half an hour," I tell him begrudgingly, eyeing my bed with a huge longing. "Fine. Will wait for you by your gate. And bring your guitar, yeah? Don't be late though." "Yeah, whatever."

As soon as I lift myself off my cozy bed, a loud grunt and a long sigh escape my lips. Grunt for the pain in my head, and a sigh for leaving my bed. That kinda rhymed! Weird. Nonetheless, I crack my knuckles and get up to wash. After going through my usual morning ritual of cleaning my teeth, washing my face and repeatedly skimming a hand through my hair, I pull on a new pair of 'Abercrombie & Fitch' jeans, a white 'Tommy Hilfiger' tee-shirt and my customary black leather jacket, and I am ready to go out.

But the moment I bend down to look for my black boots, a rush of vertigo passes through me. I realize I haven't taken anything for that darn bruise yet, and my stomach is practically begging me to fill it. I think calling Molly just this once wouldn't harm my ego. And acting on that thought, I open my bedroom door, shouting in my loudest voice for the said woman.

"Don't shout from up there," my old man's sharp and frigid voice greets me seconds later. He is sitting in the hall, a few papers scattered about him on the small study table on one side of the overly large room. I can't see his golden boy, 'Richie rich' or his stupid mom with him. But that's good. Wouldn't wanna ruin my day seeing their ugly faces, right?

Right.

"If you want something, come down and ask politely." I ignore my dad, and shout once again. "Didn't you hear me?" he roars in a voice a tiny bit less loud than mine. "Who's shouting now?" I challenge him. "Don't talk back to me, you filthy wretch!"

"Oh, really? You're one big hypocrite, old man. If I remember correctly, it was you who started the conversation, if I can even call it that." "If you speak one more time, I'll bash your head in, boy!" he hisses in what is supposed to be a dangerous voice. "Ooh, I'm scared!" I dramatically fake-alarm my expression, just to rile him up a bit further. Bull****